No More Learning

you shall see now, in very
sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open
all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets
for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action!
Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
forward to-night.

Enter his Lady.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
Cry 'Courage! to the field! ' And thou hast talk'd
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream,
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho!

[Enter a Servant. ]

Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my lord.
Hot. That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight. O esperance!
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
[Exit Servant. ]
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse!
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are toss'd with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Harry; that I will!
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title and hath sent for you
To line his enterprise; but if you go-
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly unto this question that I ask.
I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell my all things true.
Hot. Away.
Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not;
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
Lady. Do you not love me? do you not indeed?
Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am a-horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you. Kate:
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must; and to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no farther wise
Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are,
But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
No lady closer, for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
Lady. How? so far?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
Will this content you, Kate,?
Lady. It must of force. Exeunt.




Scene IV.
Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter Prince and Poins.

Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy hand
to laugh a little.
Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
Prince,. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or
fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of
humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers and
can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and
Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that, though
I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell
me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a
lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me! ), and
when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads
Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when
you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem! ' and bid you play it
off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an
hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during
my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou
wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten which
name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd even
now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other
English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and 'You
are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score
a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to drive
away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some
by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end be gave me
the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis! ' that his
tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon! ' Step aside, and I'll show
thee a precedent.
Poins. Francis!
Prince. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins. ]

Enter [Francis, a] Drawer.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. - Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Prince. Come hither, Francis.
Fran. My lord?
Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of
Pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the
coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and
run from it?
Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England I
could find in my heart-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir.
Prince. How old art thou, Francis?
Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest me-
'twas a pennyworth, wast not?
Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two!
Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou
wilt, and, thou shalt have it.
Poins. [within] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.
Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But
Francis-
Fran. My lord?
Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-
Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for look
you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary,
sir, it cannot come to so much.
Fran. What, sir?
Poins. [within] Francis!
Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?
Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed,
not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look
to the guests within. [Exit Francis. ] My lord, old Sir John, with
half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in?
Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
[Exit Vintner. ]
Poins!
Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir.

Enter Poins.

Prince.
Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the
door. Shall we be merry?
Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning
match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what's
the issue?
Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours
since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
present this twelve o'clock at midnight.

[Enter Francis. ]

What's o'clock, Francis?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. ]
Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and
downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet
of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some
six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and
says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work. ' 'O my
sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou kill'd to-day? '
'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some
fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle. ' I prithee call in
Falstaff. I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play Dame
Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo! ' says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call
in tallow.

Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
Francis follows with wine].

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry and
amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll
sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of
all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue
extant?
He drinketh.
Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun!
If thou didst, then behold that compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing but
roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse than
a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward! Go thy ways,
old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be not
forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring.
There lives not three good men unhang'd in England; and one of
them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world, I
say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A
plague of all cowards I say still!
Prince. How now, woolsack? What mutter you?
Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a
dagger of lath and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock
of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince
of Wales?
Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?
Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
Lord, I'll stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee
coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as
thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care
not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A
plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me
a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day.
Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st
last.
Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh. ) A plague of all cowards
still say I.
Prince. What's the matter?
Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a
thousand pound this day morning.
Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four of
us!
Prince. What, a hundred, man?
Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them
two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight times
thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut
through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce signum!
I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A
plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or less
than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen-
Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
Gads. And bound them.
Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew
else- an Ebrew Jew.
Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us-
Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
Prince. What, fought you with them all?
Fal. All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not with
fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! If there were not two or
three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd
creature.
Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.
Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them. Two
I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee
what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point.
Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.
Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four.
Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made me
no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus.
Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now.
Fal. In buckram?
Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have more
anon.
Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in buckram
that I told thee of-
Prince. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken-
Poins. Down fell their hose.
Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in,
foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.
Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in
Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so
dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them- gross as
a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?
Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when
it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your
reason. What sayest thou to this?
Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or
all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion.
Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as
blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill
of flesh-
Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath to
utter what is like thee! - you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou
hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.
Poins. Mark, Jack.
Prince.